Firecrackers in the Teachers' Lounge
by Three-Sided Square
Summary: Emil and his newly declared nemesis, Leon, must cooperatively face punishment after fighting in the school cafeteria. Spending their after-school hours cleaning the campus, the rivals inevitably grow close and decide to fight on the same team. Hetalia Academy will know fear. Rated T for language, violence, and the inappropriate wearing of sandals over socks in the summertime.
1. It Was The Tart Thief's Fault

He started it.

That's what I will tell my older brother when he comes to pick me up from the principal's office, where I am currently held prisoner. I sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair with a crooked seat, listening to the nervous ticking of a clock hidden somewhere in the room. I can only imagine how Lukas will react once the principal explains why he received a phone call from school at 12:38 in the afternoon, or why I have a bloody nose that would put Old Faithful to shame. Perhaps he'll wonder why the kid sitting next to me is slumped in his chair, holding an ice pack over his black eye.

That kid? His name is Li Xiao, and he's Hetalia Academy's newest transfer student. To put it simply, Li Xiao is an incredibly plain-looking guy. He sticks out like a sore thumb with all the trendy keychains on his backpack, and I'm fairly certain he included in his welcome speech to the class something about coming from Hong Kong. To be fair, I wasn't really paying attention.

After a daunting hour and a half, Principal Vargas finally speaks. He makes us sign counseling statements and each write a first-hand account of what happened. It was my word against that jerk's, now. I already plan on spilling the truth; no point in complicating matters, extending my stay in this stuffy office. I may be from Iceland, but the temperature in this room is much more appropriate for a dry sauna than a school office.

"Make sure you tell the truth on these papers, boys," Principal Vargas says as he hands each of us a black pen. "We've already heard a second-hand account of what happened, so there's really no sense in lying."

My eyes are drawn to a figure standing by the door to the student council room. The class president, a blonde, lanky kid from England, meets my gaze. He coughs, quickly pretends to sift through the papers in his hands, and disappears into the student council room. He's known throughout the school for being a goody-two shoes. Look up "Tattletale", and a picture of Arthur's face is next to the very definition.

Me and my opponent both set down our pens around the same time, as though competing in a race against each other. He shoots me a dry glare over the top of his paper. Chilling. He sets his counseling statement on the principal's desk, and the Latin principal quickly skims over it, nodding and scratching his stubbly chin. He gives the boy's words some consideration before tossing it to the side. "Yes, this will do." I hand him mine and he does the same with mine.

The office door behind me quickly opens and my brother appears. I can feel his anger enter the room before he does. The room suddenly turns dark and heavy. Lukas pulls up a chair and sits painfully close to me. My nose alerts me that he put on too much cologne this morning.

"What did he do this time?" Lukas barks. No pleasantries, no handshakes; my brother has a way of getting straight to the point. He was from Norway, after all.

Principal Vargas twists a strand of curly brown hair in his fingers as he nonchalantly explains, "Another fight. This time, with the new kid... Er... What did you say your name was again?" He sits up in his chair rather embarrassed, looking for the kid's name on the paper he had just signed.

"Li Xiao," the new student replies in a calm voice. Must be trying to play it cool, I figure. He sits forward in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees, finally taking the ice pack off of his swollen left eye. So rude. He could at least pretend to care that he's in the principal's office on his first day of school!

The principal chuckles. "Ah, that's right. Li Xiao, from China-"

"Hong Kong."

"Yes, Hong Kong." He clears his throat and quickly regains his composure. "From both sides of the story, Emil and... the new kid... started off on the wrong foot this afternoon in the school cafeteria. Emil was chosen to be Li... Xia... Lu Xun... Lao..."

The Hong Kong exchange student looks mortified at the butchering of his name at the hands of the principal. He waves his arms while shaking his head and brashly suggests, "You can just call me Leon, if that's easier to remember."

"Leon... Much easier to remember. Anyway, Emil was chosen to be Leon's designated guide for the day. You see, we always pair a new student off with someone who's been around a while, just to show 'em around, and what being a student at Hetalia Academy is all about. Good morale builder. Helps strengthen the school community and..."

Lukas simply nods, his sharp eyes pleading with Principal Vargas to cut to the chase.

The Latin man picks up on the not-so-subtle hint and waves his hand in the air, dismissing the small details. "Long story short, it seems they got into a bit of an argument in the school cafeteria..." he shuffles through the papers on his desk, "...Concerning who would get the last blueberry tart from the dessert line."

The last words filled the room like a tidal wave. Even the class president peeks into the room, unsure if he had heard correctly.

My brother drops his head, and swings it around to face me. "So... You're telling me you fought over a piece of... cake?"

"A tart," Leon corrects him, dead serious.

Lukas gives him a sharp 'who-asked-you' look-over before returning his attention to me. He waves his hands indifferently and mutters, "Okay, so, you got into a fight over a tart."

"Yep." I shrug my shoulders.

"And that's why I had to leave work early. So I could be here- at your school- to pick you up."

"Yep."

Silence.

"...You know you're grounded, right?"

"Yep."

My brother sighs massages his forehead. He drops his hands at his sides and asks Principal Vargas for a pen- he's quite familiar with this procedure by now. Not that I've been counting, but this is probably the fifth time he's been called in on my account. The principal hands Lukas the same paper I had written on mere moments ago, and he takes it to his chair to read over before signing it. While we wait, Principal Vargas sits with his hands folded in front of his face. "We will discuss corrective action first thing tomorrow morning." He glances at the clock, and turns his attention to Leon. "You did call your guardians and tell them to pick you up, correct?" The older man raises a brow, concerned.

Leon nods, and his long, brown bangs land directly over his face. "Yeah. I called my cousin." He slowly pushes them behind is ear, but they quickly fall back into place. I wonder if he even notices. "But he didn't pick up, so I called my brother."

"Is he on his way, then?"

"No," the boy looks down at his hands and calmly replies, "I don't think so."

The principal doesn't push him for answers, but inhales rather stiffly and fiddles with a red pen, thinking to himself. Principal Vargas looks up multiple times to say something, but reconsiders each time. After consideration, he calls loudly over his shoulder, "Arthur!"

The blonde kid that has been eavesdropping on us this entire time enters the room. He adjusts his tie as he walks in and reports to the principal. Upon a glance, I notice his uniform is crisp and pressed. I imagine that he wakes up early every morning, far too early, just to iron it to perfection. It's no wonder this guy has been elected to uphold the Hetalia Academy values. "Yes, Principal Vargas?" he inquires upon being summoned. His British accent is quite thick when he speaks. Arthur stands to the side of the principal's desk, just a few feet away from me and my brother.

"Is there a student council meeting after school today?" the principal asks.

Arthur nods. "There is. From 4 to 6. We have to start planning for the Spring Fling next month. Why do you ask?" His green eyes quickly look both Leon and I over and return to the principal.

"Never mind." He shoos Arthur away with a hurried wave of his palm. The class president doesn't hesitate to return to the student council headquarters. Following his absence, there is a long silence looming over the room. Currently, the principal is calling various numbers on his phone, Lukas is hell-bent on winning a staring contest with me, Leon the Jerk seems to be zoning out (thinking about whatever it is jerks think about), and I... Well... I'm just here.

"Mr. Bondevik," Principal Vargas finally raises after much consideration.

My brother loses the staring contest as he looks away. "Yes?"

"I can't seem to get ahold Leon's guardians. I would offer to drive him home myself, but unfortunately, I must stay late and attend a district meeting in twenty minutes. Would you be so kind as to drive Leon home?"

My brother subtly clenches his fist, a gesture I recognize after years of being his brother as a telltale sign of annoyance. He looks at Leon, who is just sitting there like a jerk, and finally says, "Sure. Not a problem. Just tell me where I'm taking you. C'mon, Emil." He stands up and leads us out of the office.

As we leave, Leon deliberately steps on my shoelace, and I fall face-first into the door. My brother looks back at me and tries to stifle a laugh, but behind me, Leon doesn't try to hide his amusement as he grins. I don't bother holding the door open for Leon, and it hits him right in the shoulder. Serves him right for trying to take the last blueberry tart at lunch.

Jerk.


	2. Shots Fired

**Chapter 2: **  
**Shots Fired**

I wake up well before the alarm on my phone goes off. My head is spinning like a merry-go-round. Despite just having woken up, I'm already tired. I splash handful after handful of cold water on my face to help wash the sleepiness away. When I catch a glimpse of my bruised cheekbone in the bathroom mirror, I recall my brawl with Leon yesterday. I scowl at my reflection and dry my face with a towel.

Downstairs, my brother is sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a newspaper. He brings a cup of coffee to his mouth. He seems to be distracted. I quietly gather my belongs and try to slip out the front door unnoticed, but my brother doesn't miss much, as usual. I hear his chair screech against the wooden floor as he slides back and peers at me through the kitchen entrance. "Don't forget," he shouts over his shoulder in that certain parental tone of his, "you still owe me a 10,000 word essay on why picking fights with your friends is very unbecoming of you. And I _will_ count."

I groan, letting my backpack slide off my shoulder. "He is _not_ my friend! Besides, you used to fight with Mathias all the time when you two were in school," I remind him, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

He lets out a sharp exhale and his violet eyes flicker. "Yes, but we never got _caught_," he said, the faint trace of a smile gracing his lips before quickly disappearing behind the newspaper he held.

_Touch__é_.

It's nine in the morning at Hetalia Academy. The halls are in disarray, as usual: people are walking much too quickly without regard for personal space, lockers are slamming open and shut, and teachers are already handing out dress code violations like candy on Halloween. The naseating scent of perfume and cologne, combined with the smell of bacon and eggs from the cafeteria, is enough to make one sick. "Ugh..." My stomach feels like it's about to turn upside-down, and I clutch my sides. I can already tell I have a long day ahead of me.

My first class is full of very strange people. Most of us are exchange students from various contries across the globe: Latvia, New Zealand, Liechtenstein, just to name a few. Our teacher is a young woman from Ukraine. Directly In front of me sits some kid from a country I've never even heard of. I think he once referred to his country as "Molossia", but I have yet to find it on a map. Next, there's the pretty, dark-skinned girl who sits in the chair to my right- Michelle. Michelle comes from a tropical country in southern Africa, called "Seychelles". I'm thankful this year's seating roster has us placed directly next to each other. This way, we can easily pass notes back and forth during class without being intercepted. Lastly, there's the chair to my left, placed next to the only window in the classroom. That chair has always been empty, ever since a Russian kid used to sit in it years ago.

Until today.

Leon, my sworn enemy, sits comfortably in the dusty chair. His chin lazily rests in his palms, and a red cord connects the MP3 player on his desk to the headphones over his ears. The skin surrounding his left eye is the colour of purple. The bruise, I suppose, must be from the punch I landed on him yesterday, although he seems to have covered it up pretty well with some kind of makeup. When our eyes meet, there is static, and we are both quick to look away. He shifts his gaze beyond the window next to him.

I pull my chair down from on top of my desk and prepare my work area. The bell rings, and my teacher, Ms. Braginskaya, begins to pass out a worksheet to each of the students. From the corner of my eye, I see a shadow slip into the classroom and sneak its way to the chair on my right. I immediately recognize the shadow as my friend.

"Do you think the teacher saw me?" Michelle whispers.

I scan the room and spot our teacher in the front of the room, handing a worksheet to the Latvian exchange student in the second row.

"No. I think you're safe."

Michelle lets out a relieved sigh. Before I even get the chance to ask how he morning was, she asks if she can copy last night's homework. I reluctantly hand her my paper, but not without poking fun at her first. "Looks like _Goody Two-Shoes _didn't do her homework last night."

She shoots me a sour look as she snatches the worksheet from my hands. "Shut up! If you must know, I had a _date_." She nervously twirls at a red bow in her hair.

I grin. "A _date_? Who would go on a date with such a foul-tempered-"

"Emil!" the teacher barks my name from the other end of the classroom. "Do not talk during class! If I have to remind you again, I'll be seeing you after school. In_ detention_."

I hear a snicker come from my left.

_I seriously loathe this guy._

I raise my hand and receive permission from the teacher to use the restroom. Ms. Braginskaya heaves a sigh, and her large... _tracks of land_...seem to bounce in unison. N-Not that I'm staring, anyway! "Make it quick," she warns me, shaking a finger. "And please don't pick any fights on your way." She hands me a small slip that serves as a hall pass, and I leave.

I'm one of very few students wandering down the hallway. The halls are quiet, save for the occasional locker slamming shut, or footsteps as teachers on break pass by. I pass classes in session and peer in the doors to see students hard at work.

I make it all the way to the left wing when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn on my heel, and standing behind me is a very stern-looking guy in the year above me. I recognize him immediately as Arthur Kirkland, the student body president of the World Academy. "Steilsson!" he says sternly, his green eyes staring directly past mine, "Where is your hall pass?"

I hand him the small pink slip signed by Ms. Braginskaya, hoping the paper will speak for me. Arthur is famous across campus for being ruthless in his presidency. If he truly wants to write you up- be it loose necktie or perhaps one picture too many hanging in your locker- he _will _find something to complain about.

This encounter, however, is unlike any other. He hands me back my hall pass and returns the clipboard in his hands to his side. "Good," he says, sounding somewhat releived. I let out a breath I had been holding in my lungs. "You're already on probation, so I've been told to keep an eye on you. After the fight you picked with Leon yesterday, you've got two more strikes. After the third strike, you'll be suspended."

"Thanks for reminding me," I say sarcastically,"I had nearly forgotten." He pulls out his clipboard and pen again, and I rush to correct myself. "T-That is, I had nearly forgotten about the 'three strikes, you're out' system!" I lie. The clipboard goes back to his side.

"Don't get complacent, just because I let you off easy this time. Tuck in your shirt," he orders, peering down at my waist. I obey. Suddenly, Arthur sighs and his facial features soften. "By the way," he says, scratching the back of his head, "I hope you and Leon get along, one day. He isn't such a bad fellow, you know."

I turn my head and give him a skeptical look. "'Get along, huh?'"

I could almost laugh.  
Almost.

"No, really!" Arthur raises his voice. "His older brother, Wang Yao-"

The English exchange student is suddenly distracted as a female with mismatched socks walks by. One sock goes all the way up to her knee, and the other falls by the bottom of her shin. I can practically see the words "DISCIPLINARY ACTION" flash in his eyes like a road construction sign.

Arthur briskly pats me on the back with his clipboard and takes a step to the side. "...Gotta go. Hang in there. Probation will be over before you know it." he walks past me and disappears into the Seniors' hallway, hot on the trail of the other student. "Excuse me! According to school regulation, those socks are-"

_Maybe I should apologize to Leon._

When I return to the classroom, I stumble in to see every student, necks craned over their desks, dilligently flipping back and forth between their textbooks and another worksheet. The teacher hands me the same paper as I pass her desk. I make my way back to my seat. Next to me, Michelle has already finished her assignment and has fallen asleep with her head on her desk. _Oh, Michelle. _When I look to the other side of the classroom, I accidentally catch Leon staring at me. He quickly averts his gaze back to his homework, turning a page in his textbook.

I'd better not fall behind. I decide to take a stab at my homework. I go to pick up my mechanical pencil from the edge of my desk, but it slips right out of my fingers when I try to lift it. Rather than slip... It doesn't even leave the desk. "What the hell...?" I whisper as I try to pick it off the surface over and over again. I reach for my eraser, but that, too, is fixed to my desktop. Frantically, I reach for every object on my desk- my textbook, my phone, the worksheet from before- each one of them just as stuck as my pencil.

That's when it hits me:

They're not just stuck to the desk.  
They're_ glued_.

"Michelle?" I whisper to my friend. No reply, other than a light snore. "Chelle!" She moves her hand and covers it over her face. I hear her murmur something inbetween snores.

_"No, Shinji-kun... You can't... pilot... the Eva... zzzzz" _

...Yeah, she's not waking up anytime soon. I attempt to lean over the aisle and tap her on the shoulder, but I can't seem to lift myself out of my seat. I freeze. I'm _literally_ glued to my chair. Placing a hand on top of my desk, I try to push myself out, but my pants remain stuck to the top of the seat. I try again, and again, each time more forceful than the last. One last time, I practically jump out of my chair in an attempt to break free, and...

_Riiiip!_

I yelp loudly as I fly out of my chair, tumbling onto the floor in the middle of the isle. Luckily, my hands and knees hit the ground first. My face is just centimeters away from the metal legs of Michelle's desk. I hear the sound of a dozen chairs screech in unison as the entire class turns around to see me. I hear the sound of high-heeled footsteps approach me from the front of the room, and when I look up, I see our homeroom teacher's frowning face. She pulls out a pen and notepad, Ms. Braginskaya kneels down and places a pink sticky note directly on my forehead before returning to her desk and dialing a number into the classroom phone. As she talks into the phone, I reluctantly peel the sticky note off my face. On it is one giant word, written in big, red letters.

The rest of the class murmers the word in unison, as though it were a curse:

"DETENTION"

"That was _fun," _Leon says. He catches up to me and walks to my left. He follows me all the way down the hallway, but I know for a fact he doesn't have art class next hour like I do.

I stop and turn to him. I feel a blood vessel throb on my forehead. "_Fun!_" I exclaim. My face heats up and I grab the collar of his shirt, pulling his face close to mine. "Detention is not _fun_! Being glued to your chair and having your pants rip in the middle of a lecture is not _fun_!"

"Chill, bro," the brunette lightly pushes his palm against my chest, taking a step back. I let go of my hold on his collar, and he adjusts it by pulling at the fabric. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean for your pants to rip or anything like that." He shrugs.

"Don't 'bro' me like you know me," I say, strangely proud to finally put that line to use once and for all. "You and I are _rivals_. Because of you, I have to go to detention, today." I cross my arms and l look down upon him. I sharpen my eyes like knives at him, but he seems unfazed.

"'Rivals'?" Leon repeats. He cocks his head to one side. I examine his face for a a smirk, a nod- any sign of his usual sarcasm, really- but I find nothing. He looks down at his feet, scratches his chin, then looks back to me, as though considering a purchase at a grocery store. "Cool," he says at last, "I've never had a rival before."

"Wha-"

"Well, see you later," he reaches an arm over my shoulder, pulling our faces close- "_Rival_." He releases his grip and pulls the large set of headphones hanging around his neck up over his ears.

I stare at his back as he disappears out the school entrace. I kick the tip of my shoe behind me and click my tongue._ "This guy..." _With my backpack slung over one shoulder, I turn around and make my way to detention.


	3. Rival

If I had a dollar for every time I've been to detention, I'd be a millionaire- no... _a billionaire_. Although Arthur Kirkland, the student council president, was kind, he was also ruthless in his presidential duties. It seems like no matter how closely I inspect my uniform in the morning, there's always something wrong with my uniform for Arthur to rant about. Like accidentally forgetting to wear a belt with my uniform. Or coming to school with my tie half undone. Next thing you know, Arthur will send me to detention for having violet eyes. Heck, on my first day of school, Arthur wanted to have me expelled for dying my hair white! ...My hair's naturally white, by the way.

I reluctantly push open the detention classroom door_. _The door creaks pitifully, as if it was tired._ "Welcome home,"_ I think to myself. As soon as I enter the dark room, my nose is instantly greeted by the smell of dust and old textbooks. The little sparse amount of light in the room comes from a swaying ceiling light that flickers on and off, much like a blinking eye.

Amongst the and the lopsided desks, It looks like someone is already here, despite me arriving nearly 15 minutes before detention is scheduled to begin. Amongst all the empty seats in the room, my arch-nemesis, Leon, sits in the last row with a quiet yet smug aura to him that says he owns the place. He strums his thin fingers along a desk while listening to music through his brand-name headphones- they must be incredibly expensive. As soon as he hears the door slam sharply behind me as I enter the room, he glances back. Our eyes meet, and I look away. When he recognizes me, he takes off his headphones.

"Rival!" He greets me in a chipper voice that doesn't quite match his permanent deadpan expression. He leans over and enthusiastically taps the surface of the desk next to him. "Sit here, rival. I saved this seat for you."

Ignoring his question, I dare ask a question of my own. "Why are you here?"

"You don't remember?" He clutches his chest with one hand and presses his forehead with the other as he feigns shock. "I'm in detention, too. 'Cause of the fight."

_Great._

I take a peek at the chair Leon offers and initially examine it for any traps: a broken back, a wobbly leg, thumbtacks in the seat cushion- all the usual signs of Leon's trickery. You just can't be too careful around this demon of a prankster. Fortunately, I don't see any signs of tampering. It looks safe. Regardless, I decide against Leon's offer for reasons of my own. "No, thanks," I say curtly, and take my place at a desk three seats ahead and one to the left. Sitting next to Leon would be an open invitation for another prank. _Ain't no one got time for that._

I promptly decide to use study hall to my full advantage. If I can finish my English homework now, I can relax when I get home. Even just halfway today would allow me enough time to finish it in study hall tomorrow. With that, I hurriedly dig into my brown book bag for my homework to get a head start on tonight's assignment. As I languidly scribble in my answers, more and more students clutter around the room like pigeons, creating a loud uproar in the much-too-small classroom.

The academy bell sounds twice, and as if on queue, the classroom door quietly creaks open as the last person arrives. A tall man in clothes a size too large for his frame slowly enters the room. His graceful presence is so light he may as well not have a presence at all. He must have just woken up, by the looks of it. The teacher sits at the desk in front of the classroom and ruffles his disheveled brown hair as he speaks to the class.

"Mr. Karpusi," he begins, gently setting a plentiful stack of books on his desk. "My name is Mr. Heracles Karpusi... I'm from Greece. Most of you know me as the study hall teacher... But today..."

...He fell asleep.

"Mr. Karpusi! Please wake up!" A girl from the senior class shouts from behind me.

"...Ah, where was I?" He rubs the sleep from his eyes. After a big yawn, he cracks his neck and carries on. "That's right... Hello. My name is Mr. Karpusi, and-"

"You already said that!" A boy in the back of the class jeers.

Mr. Karpusi looks confused. His furrowed eyebrows furrow deeper as he tries his best to pick up where he left off. "Right... I'll be your teacher for detention today. I'm pretty easygoing... So please feel free to tidy up the classroom. Or work on homework. Or put your head down for a... nap... Zzzz..."

And... He's out. This teacher is kind, but rather unreliable... I quietly chuckle to myself and continue working on my English assignment. Thus far, I have managed to work through the vocab, just halfway to the bottom of the worksheet. But now that I'm down to the knitty-gritty, I'm stumbling to recall how to conjugate verbs... English verbs are really tricky.

Maybe I could ask Arthur, the English class president? I've seen him speak fluent English to a tall blonde American student from America a few times. If anyone could give me reliable help with this topic, it would be either of those two.

Just as the thought occurs to me, something hits my back with a light tap. "Yah!" Whatever hit me did not hurt, but it certainly caught me off guard. I spin around in my seat to find the source of the tap was the person sitting behind me (big surprise there). He lazily hands me a small, crisply folded note and whispers, "From Leon." He points to the devil himself three rows back. Leon gives one short wave. I read the note written on the paper:

_"Rival,_  
_The answer to #16 is 'has not yet eaten'.  
English isn't your strongest subject, is it rival?"_

...What can I say? English really isn't my best after all. I was always too self-conscious of my Icelandic accent to study extensively. I click my mechanical pencil three times and write, "I don't need your help" on the back of the wrinkled note. My handwriting is neat and tidy. I admire it for a moment before I fold the paper into three squares and toss it back to Leon. It hits him square in the forehead. Score!

"Emil..." Mr. Karpusi scolds from the front of the classroom, despite being asleep, "...It's okay if you want to quietly whisper to someone next to you... But please... Don't throw things... especially not... cats... Zzz"

"Sorry, sorry" I half-heartedly groan. You know, for a guy that can't keep his eyes open for two minutes, Mr. Karpusi has an impeccable third eye for mischief. The rest of the classroom snickers at me.

An hour and two homework assignments later, study hall had finally come to an end.

At exactly 4:30, Mr. Karpusi wakes up on his own accord and stands to his feet. "Have a good day, everyone," he murmured like a whisper, "I hope whatever you did to end up in detention... You will not make the same mistake twice... Goodbye, class... Zzz..." The narcoleptic teacher fell asleep leaning against the whiteboard, but no one bothered to wake him up on their way out. The other students were too busy scrambling for their books and belongings to notice. I retreat out of my desk and take a deep stretch. One full hour of sitting is torture on my legs.

I make my way with the rest of the crowd towards the door with my backpack slung over one shoulder. By the time I reach the door, Leon is already standing next to it, putting on his sweat jacket. He must be waiting for someone. Does he have friends? I pass by him, and to my surprise, he exits the room after me. It's only when he walks alongside me that I realize-to my horror- that Leon was waiting for _me._

"Wasn't detention cool?" Leon said as he keeps up with me in the hall.

I say nothing, but I tighten my grip on my backpack. _'cool'_; I do not think this word means what Leon thinks it means. I pick up my pace in hopes of losing him, but he matches my speed and continues to walk alongside me. Despite my glowering silence, Leon rambles on and on, as though he were talking to himself.

"I like Mr. Karpusi. Nice guy. He's a pretty cool teacher," he continues. "There's still a lot about this place I have to learn. Like, why are there forty-five chairs in every classroom, but only thirty students in any given class? Or even more mysteriously, why is it that all of us speak different languages, yet we can all talk and understand each other in this fanfic-"

I stop in my tracks. "Why are you talking to me? Aren't we enemies?" I had meant for the words to be quiet, but instead, they echo sharply against the empty hallway walls. The sunlight filters through the ceiling in gentle orange rays of light. I watch the sunlight form stripes on Leon's back as he comes to a stop a few feet ahead of me. He turns slowly on his heel and looks at me from over one shoulder. His face appears thoughtful as he glances to the ceiling for an answer.

"I'm not sure. I feel like I can talk to you, I guess." His solemn face quickly distorts into a sly smile. "Enemies or not, you're still supposed to be my school guide, right? They never reassigned me a new one."

To my chagrin, he's technically right. The thought hadn't occurred to me since the tart incident. Before Leon got here, I was specially chosen by the student council to be his student guide. Hetalia Academy has a long-standing tradition that every new student is be assigned a guide to show them around the school until they find their place among the crowd. How ironic that I was chosen... I, who never really had a crowd to belong to in the first place. Come to think of it: _did Leon make any friends since coming here...?_

"..._Fine, fine..."_ I mumble. I catch up to the dark-haired boy and allow absolutely no less than an arm's length distance between the two of us. We leave the school building _together_\- that sentence alone makes me shudder- and make our way outside. The sun has almost disappeared past the horizon, painting the surrounding buildings and trees a brilliant yellow-red. The playful smell of wildflowers dances just outside the doors, where red and white flowers border the sidewalks the pass through here. We continue down the freshly paved sidewalk bordered by white rosebushes, tour past the willow tree in the courtyard, and walk all the way to the wrought iron gate that marked both the entrance and exit of Hetalia Academy. This is where the large sidewalk that bordered encircled the entire campus forks into two, much like a calm river. The sidewalk to the right lead straight to my house.

"Well, this is it." With a deep breath, I turn to the strange boy from Hong Kong and give him my most charming, eloquent farewell: "C'ya later, I guess."

Leon pats me on the shoulder three distinct times. "See you tomorrow, rival." The plentiful and bulky keychains on his backpack jingle and chime with his gestures.

"In your dreams," I scoff proudly, brushing his hand off my shoulder. Leon waves excitedly before walking in the opposite direction.

As I stand there contently watching his red-jacketed back disappear into the warm horizon, where the sidewalk fades into elsewhere, the thought hits me like a speeding train at 200mph:

Am I becoming friends...  
...With my rival?


	4. Sick Days

**Two weeks before the day that would change our lives forever . . .**

With each passing day, I am becoming more and more accustomed to Leon and his quirky presence. I wouldn't quite call us friends, but at this point, I'm not sure you could call us rivals, either. The line inbetween the two blurs each time we meet in the hallway, each time we wait for the other after our first class, and it even boils down to detention, where Leon always saves me seat next to him. Rivals definitely don't save each other a spot in the lunch line, and they certainly don't give each other class notes to use in study hall. I've never had a rival before, so I'm not familiar with such customs. But if this is what true rivalry is... I guess I don't mind it.

The weeks pass by, and before I realize it, spring is nearly over. Thank goodness, too. I've never been a big fan of the springtime. Call it ill luck or a weak immune system, I always, _always_ get terribly sick in the last week of spring. This particular Friday morning, I have developed a merciless cough and a killer headache, both of which keep me unpleasantly lurched over my bed like a sack of potatoes. Each time I attempt to get out of bed or try to lean over my nightstand for a spoonful of chicken noodle soup, I see stars, and I don't mean the star-shaped noodles in the soup bowl.

I try my best to catch some shut-eye throughout the day, but inevitably, I wake up every twenty minutes with a hacking cough or a throbbing headache. I give up hope of catching a recovery nap and instead choose to stay awake. With nothing better to do, I decide to watch some TV. The cool thing about living in international territory is the TV channels are stations from all over the world! After flipping through all the options, I settle for an energetic American game show called The Price is Right. People are screaming, shouting, and jumping up and down as if their lives depend on it, and the ringing noises and flashing lights are enough to make me dizzy. This is definitely the kind of show Americans would like.

_Ding-dong!_

The doorbell? It doesn't sound like it came from the television just now. I hear footsteps scuffle on the wood floor downstairs, and when the front door opens, a soft tremble resonates throughout the house. I hold my breath, praying the door isn't for me.

_Please be the mailman._  
_Please be the mailman._  
_Please be..._

"Emil! You have a visitor," He calls from downstairs.

_Crap._ Now I have to leave my comfy bed, after I already became so settled in... Such is the life of an introverted shut-in.

I wrap a heavy fleece blanket over my head and shoulders. All bundled up like a burrito, I teeter down the stairs on my tiptoes, careful not to trip over the fabric. The further down the stairs I go, I can start to make out the sight of Lukas's back, and slowly, another person comes into view.

"Leon?!" I take a leap backwards. My legs buckle and I step on my blanket, swiftly falling on my ass in the middle of the living room. That's when it hits me:

_My rival._  
_In the flesh._  
_At my doorstep._

"Ah, what a surprise. Emil, I had no idea you and Li Xiao made up," my brother coos, "Last time I saw you, you had a black eye." Lukas smiles at Leon, likely not realizing his words could be taken as offensive. Typical Lukas. However, Leon doesn't seem to mind and he bows. My brother steps aside and holds the door open, gesturing inside the house like an usher. "Please, come in. I'm making dinner soon."

Panicked, I reach my hand out in the direction of the door. "Wait, Lukas! Don't let-!"

"Please pardon the intrusion." Leon steps inside and politely takes off his shoes, one by one, leaving them neatly arranged on the doormat by the entrance.

"...him in." I let down my hand and sigh.

Lukas looks displeased at me and puts a hand on his hip. "Little Brother, don't be rude to our guest. Show him around the house, why don't you?" He waves his hand in the air, motioning me to move out of the common area.

I smile through my teeth and mutter, "Of course. This way, Leon..."

We cover the entire first floor within five minutes, and Leon couldn't possibly look more astonished. Every painting, every plant, every valuable vase... No matter how mundane the object, he stops in his tracks and stares, like he's never seen such pieces before. He would probably touch them if I didn't push his hand away in time. After long, all that's left is the room upstairs- my room. My legs are aching, but Leon diligently keeps up with my pace as he stands shoulder-to-shoulder at my side. _Do natives of Hong Kong always stand this close?_ The hallway itself was small and cramped, but it offered a pleasant view of the living room and direct access to all the major rooms in the house. Family portraits lined the walls leading to the stairs. One portrait in particular catches Leon's eye. As I start to climb upstairs, Leon stops in his tracks and stares at a small photo in a reddish-brown picture frame. "Who is this?" I hear him call behind me.

I carefully turn around on the stairs, resting a hand on the railing. Peering back at him, I watch as he brushes off dust from the tiny photo's surface. "Oh, that picture?" I step downstairs and glance at the particular photo in question. I look over Leon's shoulder and make out the picture: Two young children- brothers- playing in the snow. "This is Lukas," I say, pointing to the taller of the two. The Lukas in this picture looks older by four or five years. He's resting his hands on the younger boy's shoulders, staring modestly at the camera with his silent cobalt eyes. "And this is me." I then point to the smaller boy, who is turned away from the camera like it might kill him to look. The young Emil- a short lad with disheveled white hair- holds a small stuffed puffin in his arms like a shield across his chest.

"I like it." He says, tilting the picture on the wall to the appropriate angle.

I nod. "Me too. Mathias took it when we were younger."

"Mathias?" He cocks his head to the side at the unfamiliar name.

I nod, looking around the picture wall for another photo. "Aha, this one right here." I let my finger land on a photo higher up on the collage. It's a picture of a modern-day Lukas pinching the cheek of a taller man with crazy blond hair and blue eyes. "Mathias is my brother's childhood friend and fiance. He lives here, too, but right now he's visiting family in Denmark before the two of them get married."

Leon's eyes are practically sparkling at the photo. "...Your family is really cool, rival."

"'Cool...?'" I ask as I walk back upstairs. Leon eagerly follows and we approach my room, the first door on the right.

"To the left is the bathroom. And this..." I place a hand on the already-open door and gently push it forward, "...is my room."

Leon wastes no time charging past me and rushing into the bedroom. He prances around like a child on the opening day of a candy store. "What's this? And this? I've never seen this before... Will this break if I drop it? ...Oops, guess that's a 'yes'. What's that over there...?!"

"LEON! Quit touching my stuff!" I shout. This transfer student may not look it, but underneath that calm, silent demeanor of his, he's wound like a bundle of fireworks. I wonder how many people from school know this side of Leon? The brunet pays no heed to my words as grabs the TV remote from my nightstand. He fumbles with the controller in his hands, presses a button, then looks back up the the television to see the channel he's changed it to.

I'm getting dizzy just watching him move around so rapidly. My head spins in place as I try to find my words. "I... I was watching that..." I slide my back against a bedpost as I carefully lower myself onto the floor. My headache is one thing, but my legs feels so weak, lately.

"Really? But it looked so boring," he moans stiffly as he gradually becomes more and more invested in a melodramatic K-Drama on the next channel. He plops down next to me on the floor, leaving just inches between us. The brunet looks so comfortable, you would think it was _his _room.

"...Did you come all the way here to watch my TV?" I ask after a solid ten minutes of silence between the two of us. Peeling his eyes from the K-Drama, he looks as if to say something, but he can't seem to find his train of thought until moments later.

"Oh, right. I came here to bring your homework." He looks quite pleased with himself as he smiles triumphantly. I can tell he's about to begin his rant. "You sure missed out on a lot, rival. Detention was like, the best thing ever. I got tasked out to clean the teachers' lounge by myself, and wow- you'd never guess all the cool stuff they have in there. I'll show you tomorrow. But for now..." He pats the large stack of papers peeking out the top of his backpack, held together by a binder clip.

I'm not sure why Leon would go so far to grant me this favor. He could have easily let me collect my own assignments from my teachers in the morning. It's not like he owes me, nor has he even once called me by name. He still calls me "rival" just as he did the day we were dragged into the principal's office. Come to think of it... Does he even know my name?

"Leon," I call out.

His ears perk and he peers at me like a pet cat. "Yes?"

I look him in the eye, and he appears curious as ever. With the straightest, most sincere face I can muster, I make my demand: "Say my name."

"Don't tell me..." He boggles at me as if I was speaking ancient Icelandic. "You've fallen so ill that you don't even remember your own name...?!" He softly rests the back of his palm against my cheek. Up and down, he feels my forehead, my chin, my neck... My face heats up like an oven. Somehow, this feels much different from when Lukas felt my skin for my temperature earlier. Then,without warning, Leon sweeps the bangs away from my face and presses his forehead against mine. Our noses just barely touch and I can practically feel his breath on my skin. ? Would it be considered bad manners to push him away? Is this a weird kind of kiss they do in Hong Kong? More importantly, can he read my mind this way, like aliens do in those crazy sci-fi movies?! I'm not sure exactly where to look, so I close my eyes. I sit unnervingly still until Leon backs away and lets his bangs fall over his face.

"You still have a fever," he announces at long last with utmost certainty. His hot breath against my skin gives me goosebumps.

"Thank you for the expert opinion." I look away. "I only asked because you've never called me by my name. I'm starting to think you don't remember it," I say, tugging at the collar of my purple Björk t-shirt. Is it just me, or has the room suddenly become hot and stuffy?

With a tilt of his head, it looks like Leon finally gets it. "Your name," he says simply. "That's easy." He brings his palms up to the air as if it were a no-brainer. "'Rival'."

I kneel on my bed, bringing my forehead to my knees and sigh. _This guy!_ My headache throbs angrily in disbelief. Pushing locks of white hair from out of my eyes, I peer at him from over my knees. "You're really strange, you know that...?"

The corners of the other boy's lips tilt into a cheeky smirk. "Thank you."

"Not a compliment!"

As Leon fishes through the assignments, organizing them neatly into manageable stacks, I begin to feel a bit faint. The mood has certainly lifted with Leon here, but my headache is returning at the mere thought of school. It's going to take some miracle drug to wade through this illness.

"I'll make us some tea before we get started," I announce as I leave the table. A cup of hot tea with lemon and honey would really hit the spot right now, especially with my sore throat. I turn to Leon before exiting the bedroom. "Any requests?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," He says, looking over his shoulder. As I leave, I see him crawl towards my bed, but I don't think much of it. Leon's odd- very odd- and I was slowly coming to terms with this. Slowly.

I put the water on the kettle and turn up the heat on the stove range. I lean against the nearby kitchen counter with my hands stuffed in my pajama pockets, thinking about the current circumstances. If you asked this morning how I planned on spending my sick day, my answer definitely would not have been, "Drinking honey-lemon tea in my bedroom with my rival". Oh, hmm. Rather... it sounds like a plotline to a sappy romance novel when I put it that way...

I carefully pour the entire contents of the pot into large cups. In both cups, I mix in a teaspoon of honey and few drops of lemon juice. My cousin from Finland used to tell me this sort of beverage would clear any sore throat in a jiffy. ...Although, he also liked to mix alcohol in his tea. I grab both cups and carefully tote them upstairs.

"Tea's ready," I announce to Leon as I enter the room. Only... Leon is nowhere to be seen.

"...Leon?"

I see a flicker of movement from underneath my bed. Leon's backside is peeking out the side of my legs stick out from under the bed as his torso moves from side to side. Did he perhaps drop a pen? Is he stuck!? No... It looks as though he is searching for something.

"Is this where Rival keeps his erotic magazines?"

"Get out from under there!" I throw a teaspoon at him. "You aren't going to find anything interesting."

"How boring," Leon resurfaces from underneath the bed and claps the dust from his dirtied hands. "There's really nothing under here." He wipes his hands on his checkered uniform slacks. I give him a stern look as to say, _'Well, what did you expect?!' _Ignoring my glare, Leon glances over at the clock on my nightstand and rolls up his sleeves "As for that homework... Let's get started, shall we?"

We waste no time speeding through our homework.

"You're surprisingly good at English, Leon." I rub the side of neck as I close my English textbook and put away my completed homework assignment.

Leon shrugs. "It's what happens when you live in an English household for two years, I suppose." He calmly shuts his textbook and instead of putting it away, playfully attempts to balance the textbook on the edge of the table as if it were a finely tuned scale.

"You lived _where_, now?"

His textbook falls flat on the surface with a _thud_ and he looks at me from over his shoulder. There is a particular sparkle in his eyes. "I didn't tell you before? Arthur Kirkland... is my half-brother."

I reflexively drop my pencil on the table. I can feel the gears in my head spinning as everything clicks into place. "You... You're related to the school president?!"

He looks at me and nonchalantly flicks a piece of hair from out of his eyes. "Yeah. When I was in middle school, my older brother needed to focus on his new job in China, so I stayed with Arthur's side of the family until then."

Without thinking, I grab his chin, tilting it upward, and inch my face close to his. With less than a few centimeters between his face and my own, I can easily make out his facial features that give dead giveaway to his Kirkland heritage: thick eyebrows. Arthur has eyebrows like these as well, doesn't he? The longer I examine Leon's face, the more his English features stand out: his defined jawline, his pointed chin, his ever-so-slightly upturned nose...

"Rival, not that I mind... But how much longer are you going to handle my face so roughly?"

I blush and let out a noise that was half embarrassment, half dignity. I release his face like a hot potato and brush myself off. I softly cough into the back of my sleeve and mutter, "I guess... You do kind of look like a Kirkland after all."

He chuckles and waves his hands back and forth. "Sorry, sorry. It must be a little shocking. Anyway, now you know why I speak English as well as I do."

Just then, my bedroom door flies open as my brother Lukas barges into my room without permission. He wields a metal spatula in his hand over his head as if it were a weapon. "Little Brother!" he stares down at me, waving the spatula in my general direction, "Is your friend going to stay for dinner? I can make a Norwegian dish using the family recipe. Since you've never brought a friend home before, I'll make sure it's extra deliciou-"

"He doesn't need to know that!" I rush over to my older brother to cover his mouth before he spouts more embarrassing and pathetic facts about my sheltered teenage life in front of our guest.

"You've never had a friend over before, Rival?" Leon interrupts. His face lights up with wonder as he turns to me.

Lukas heartily puts his arm over Leon's shoulder like they've been friends for years. Leon doesn't seem to mind. "It's true. Little Brother always sticks to himself at school, that little introvert. For him to invite you over for dinner... You must really mean a lot to him."

"I will treasure this moment always." Leon proudly holds a fist over his heart, deeply moved, and Lukas wipes a single tear from his eye as he stares off into an imaginary sunset.

"I didn't even invite him!" My words are lost on my doting brother and rival as they babble on and on about who-knows-what. "You two are too much alike..."

"I would love to stay for dinner," Leon says. But then, he heaves a disappointed sigh and his shoulder roll backward. "However, I really should be getting home soon. My brother will be worried..." His wistful smile leads me to believe he truly would stay longer if he could. Instead, he brushes it off and replaces it with his usual blank expression. He walks toward the stairs, past me, and says, "Oh. I have to get my stuff from your room, rival."

I wait for him at the bottom step. When he reappears at the top, he's sliding an arm through the sleeve of his school jacket. Our eyes meet briefly as he walks into the living room. I hold the door open for him. _Who said chivalry's dead?_ ...Er... No.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Leon gasps as he steps back into the doorway. His face is just inches from mine. The distance, or lack thereof, is unnerving, but I don't step away- I'll just have to get used to the short distance Hong Kongers keep from others while speaking. Leon turns his head to the side and smiles. "Is it okay if I come over again sometime?"

My face reddens like a rose and I shy away. I bashfully cough into my fist and let the words come out. "...You don't have to ask, idiot..." I gently push him out the door and he hops down the steps gleefully. When he turns and waves, I reluctantly peek out from behind the door and toss him a short wave of the hand in reply. Once he's out of sight, I shut the door behind me and take in a deep breath. Leon wants to come over again? I'll be sure to have the tea ready beforehand, and I'll definitely make sure to clean my room, even under my bed.

Little did I know his next visit would be under tragic circumstances.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello! I'm sorry for not introducing myself sooner! I just wanted to take a brief moment to give thanks to the readers of Firecrackers in the Teachers Lounge, especially the very kind readers who give me the motivation to keep on writing. Without you, this fiction may not have made it past the drawing board. From this chapter on out, things will really start picking up from here. I have big plans in mind for this fanfiction, so I hope you'll stick around and see Leon and Emil's 'rivalry' bloom! - Three-Sided Square


	5. One One-Thousand, Two One-Thousand

**Important Note:** Firecrackers in the Teachers Lounge has been a very lighthearted, goofy piece, and it absolutely will maintain that light atmosphere that you have come back for throughout the rest of its chapters. However, we must brave this much darker, serious chapter together. Please be patient with me, dearest reader! I _promise_ there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

* * *

**Chapter 5:**  
**One One-Thousand, Two One-Thousand**

There isn't a single ray of sun in the sky the following Wednesday. Monday and Tuesday had been sunny and brisk, but not without consequence. The clouds are closing in and it has begun to drizzle. My brother throws an umbrella at my head as I rush out the door, struggling to fix my uniform.

"Thanks, jerk," I mutter as I zip up the front of my jacket. I accidentally zip my finger in the process and immediately bring my finger to my lips out of reflex.

Lukas smirks as he follows and reaches for the door behind me. "Be careful out there. The weather doesn't look so good, and you're still scared of lightning after all these years, aren't you?" The door fully shuts behind me before I have a chance to mutter, _'Absolutely not!'_

_...Which would be a blatant lie. _The second the lightning begins, I'll be rattling in my own bones. I'd better sprint through this rain if I don't want to get caught up in a nasty thunderstorm.

It's hard to believe it's been nearly a week since I started serving detention for the fight with Leon. Of course, he's serving detention time, too. On most days, the teachers selected for duty could not care less whether we "detainees" (or so I like to refer to us as) sit around and stare at the front of the room for an hour and a half. Other teachers prefer to put us to work with tasks such as cleaning the floors on our hands and knees, or reading German poetry aloud, despite none of us speaking a lick of German.

_...I'm looking at you, Mr. Beilschmidt._

I wonder what miserable fate Leon and I will suffer in detention today?  
I guess I'll find out once I actually make it to school in one piece.

_Splish splash, splish splash..._

As I walk along the muddied roads, I find myself wishing Lukas had thrown an extra pair of rain boots at me this morning, as well. The rainwater seeps through my worn leather boots with each step, squishing water all the way up to my ankles at certain points of my route to school. To make matters even worse, the air grew cold as ice, and as if a curse from the gods, hail started to fall like a volley of razor-sharp arrows. I screamed (a very manly scream, mind you) and full-on sprinted towards the school.

KRR-SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCH!

The front bumper of a red sports car flies just inches away from my body, without any sign of slowing down. I freeze in place. When I realize the car has zoomed off and I am miraculously safe, I stumble away, the breath knocked right out of me as the adrenaline surges through my veins. I... I could have died, just now! The very thought leaves goosebumps on my already-cold arms. What the hell is wrong with the driver of that car? Driving that fast in these conditions... Between the hail and lightning, the visibility outside was awful; you could barely see the outline of your own hand if you held it out in front of your face. Although my older brother always picked on me for my fear of storms, this kind of weather is the very sort that brings accidents along with it.

The second I push open the towering front door to Hetalia Academy, it's immediately apparent to me that the class population is significantly smaller than usual. The usually-crowded halls have plentiful space and hardly any voices above a dull roar. I guess majority of students who live far from campus couldn't make it because of the weather. The wind loudly slams the door tightly shut behind me, and people turn to shoot me sour looks. Sorry, guys, but it's not my fault...

Which brings me to wonder:  
If a door slams in Hetalia Academy and the students are shouting, does it make a sound?  
The world may never know.

I carry my backpack to my first class of the day- the very same class in which just weeks ago, my rival, Leon, glued my pants to my seat and got me in trouble. My face burns red as cinnamon at the mere thought of it. I walk to the back of the classroom and claim my usual homeroom seat, immediately next to Michelle's seat. For the first time in a while, I have arrived before she has! I can't wait to rub it in her face. Come to think of it, it's been a while since I've talked to her, between her dates with a mystery man and my detention after school. Maybe I'll strike up a chat with her before class, when she comes in. This could be my chance to find out who this secret lover of hers is, once and for all.

...But alas, she never arrives, and the bell rings promptly. My plan has been rendered futile.

_Bummer... I'll get you next time, Michelle!_ She must have seen the storm coming and decided to stay home. Only _I_ know just how terrified she is of driving in the rain.

The Ukrainian teacher stands front and center in the classroom. Even Ms. Braginskaya seems to be feeling a little under the weather, as she doesn't remove her purple jacket from her shoulders, despite being indoors. "Mornin', class... Or rather, all six of you." At her words I curiously scan the classroom. Lo and behold, there really are only six students in the classroom, today! "It's so empty... Why don't you all move to the front of the classroom for today?" Her question is understood by us a demand, and we waste no time packing up our desk stations and relocating to the front row. I take a seat next to Lili Zwingli, a pretty girl from Liechtenstein. She was easy on the eyes. I guess that's one good thing to come out of this day.

The homeroom teacher makes her presence known one last time: "Since most of the class isn't here today, let's just call it a review day. Open your textbooks and please review the material quietly to yourself or in groups."

...Which, for anyone not fluent in Emil-speak, means '_open your textbook and take a nap while pretending to study_'. I reach over my desk for my bookbag and dig inside for my world history textbook. Where my book usually sits, my fingers meet nothingness. Did I leave it at home? Drat, I knew something was missing when I left the house!

Speaking of things that had been missing, today...

...Where's Leon? Like Michelle, I can only guess he must have been caught in the rain. However, the more I think about it, Michelle is much more cautious and likely to stay at home when the going gets rough. But Leon... Leon doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would be bothered by a little rain. In fact, I can picture him walking through the doors with his uniform sopping wet and his shoes tracking mud, wearing a strange yet satisfied grin on his face. _"It seems I forgot my umbrella,"_ he'd say.

When Ms. Braginskaya turns her back to the class, I take the opportunity to pull out my cell phone and open my contacts list, all while hiding the device underneath my desk. It's when I scan my contacts over once, twice, and a third time for his name that I realize something very important: I don't have any means of contact with Leon. How strange is that? Lately, I felt as though the distance between the two of us had been closing, so much so that it would have only been natural we would have exchanged numbers by now. I'll take the scolding from Ms. Braginskaya for forgetting my textbook and it'll all be over with, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little curious where he was, especially since his house is not too far off from mine. But Leon's a tough guy. And... Please forget I ever even mentioned it.

By the time the dreary day made it to fifth hour, my art teacher, Mr. Feliciano Vargas, didn't even ask for an assignment from us. Instead of his daily, cheery rant about The Renaissance, he simply sighed, "The weather's pretty bad today, ve...? And with it, it's brought me a terrible case of artists' block..." Without another word, he passed out colored pencils and paper to the underwhelming three students in the entire classroom and let us be. He turned on the television and huddled up in a slump at his desk, next to a pitiful pile of discarded drawings.

As I contently scribble away like a five-year old that has been handed a box of crayons, I listen to the news with a bored ear as I concentrate on my drawing.

_"...Bad weather in Hetalia City, today... Flash hailstorm and lightning have greatly hindered outdoor visibility-"_

_You don't say?_ My drawing slowly takes the form of a puffin, just like the plush doll I had when I was a child. I reach for a red colored pencil and trace the outline of a fluffy bowtie around his neck. Or was it a blue ribbon? It's been so long since I last saw the plush that I can't remember off the top of my head. I'll have a look when I get home.

_"We're seeing major road congestion, with the west side of Hetalia Academy blocked-'_

Sounds like my predictions were about spot-on! No wonder the school was so empty today. An outstanding number of families would be affected if the roads to the west were blocked, seeing as those roads are the most major-

_"-tragic accident on HetaOni street-"_

_HetaOni street...  
_...That's only a few blocks away from my usual route to school.  
This accident occurred during or just shortly after my walk this morning.

"...Channel 2 brings you live to the scene." At this point, my hands have stopped coloring and my eyes are glued to the screen like flies to fruit. To this day, I can't say why I looked. I was curious. And looking back, perhaps I would have been better off not looking.

The television cuts from one reporter in the newsroom to another reporter standing outside in the middle of the pouring rain. The hail seems to have dissipated, but the wind looks as furious as ever as the trees blow behind the poor female reporter forced to stand outside. Yellow police-tape flows behind her, keeping the public from entering as the police pick up debris. She crosses the tape, anyway.

_"A traffic accident this morning on the corner of 7th Street and Pershing Avenue is the cause of slow traffic on the west side of the roads surrounding Hetalia Academy, this morning. Behind me, we can see the two cars that were involved in the crash. Police say the accident happened when the driver of a red sport scar going nearly double the speed limit crashed into the black car, sending both cars rolling down the slope"_

A red sports car, she said... Perhaps it was the very same one that nearly ran me over this morning? It can't just be a coincidence nor would I be surprised if that surely were the case here. By now, the rest of the class- including Mr. Vargas- has stopped their pencil work and joined me in a huddle around the television, where we quietly watch the screen as the depressing news unfolds.

"...Authorities say the adult driver of the red car was drunk at the time of the accident, and is now held in critical condition at Hetalia Hospital. However, the black car, carrying two passengers, was not so lucky," the reporter furrows her eyebrows in deep concern.

It's suddenly becoming hard to breathe.  
This story hits a little too close to home.

_One one-thousand, two one-thousand... _  
I play Lukas's counting game quietly to myself as the reporter continues covering the story. If the lightning game could calm the furies of a thunderstorm, surely it could calm this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"...The driver of the black car was killed immediately upon impact, crushed under the hefty weight of the vehicle. The passenger, a student from Hetalia academy, was immediately evacuated to Hetalia Hospital and his condition is unknown at this time. We will update you as soon as that news is released."

I already know where this is going, but I can't pry my eyes away from the terrific scene.

The scene behind the reported zoomed into the two cars, absolutely torn apart beyond repair. The camera zooms closer into the scene, and one can finally make out the debris from both vehicles, shattered across the hail-covered grass. Small amounts of red dye the grass where the black car lies on its side. It zooms in even closer. This is a bit gruesome for the news. Is the camera purposefully closing in on something? It zooms closer and closer yet, and finally it lands front and center on the screen is a very distinct-looking Hetalia Academy bookbag, lying face-down in the rubble... I can't believe my eyes.

_Three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand-_

I'd recognize those ridiculous keychains anywhere.  
They were the very same ridiculous keychains Leon proudly showcased on his bookbag every day.

* * *

_**A/N:** Like a freshly removed band-aid, we've made it past this morose chapter. Whew! Let's continue on with the next chapter! After all, those fireworks from the story's title aren't going to light themselves, now, are they?_


End file.
